


31 Days of Porn, Uglywettie Style - Day #25

by UglyWettieWrites



Series: 31 Days of Porn, Uglywettie Style [9]
Category: The Escape Artist, Will Burton - Fandom
Genre: 31 Days of Porn Challenge 2017, 31 Days of Porn Uglywettie Style, Begging, David Tennant - Freeform, Erotica, F/M, Femdom, Impact Play, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Restraints, Sex Toys, The Escape Artist - Freeform, Will Burton - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-11-05 02:03:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11003685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UglyWettieWrites/pseuds/UglyWettieWrites
Summary: Will has found an unorthodox but very effective way to deal with his anger and sorrow - a pro-Domme discreetly recommended to him by a work friend.There's just one wrinkle - they're actually falling for each other.





	31 Days of Porn, Uglywettie Style - Day #25

**Slap!**

He grunted, drooling into the tatami. She walked around him and caressed the crop. He was nearly there - she could see by his eyes. They had gone from desperate to blissed out. Angry red marks criss crossed his flat belly and chest in a decorative herringbone pattern.

She put the crop down - she was too excited. He wriggled helplessly in the restraints. She adjusted her gloves, pinching the snug leather down her fingers. His sweat glistened on the palms. It took everything not to lick.

He watched her from the corner of his eye. Another rivulet of saliva dripped off his clamped tongue.

She walked to him, running her fingers through his sweat drenched hair. He cooed, then squealed when she pulled. His head snapped back. His face was mottled red with her slaps. She leaned in, pressing her leg to his dripping erection. He wore a beautiful chrome cock ring, more for her visual stimulation that his.

And he had a spectacular cock. But she had not fucked him.

She wore what she usually wore - a pair of black leggings, and a black sleeveless turtleneck. The leggings were stretched taut, and her skin gleamed through them, something she did on purpose. Her submissives were after her own heart, and she was no faceless leather Domme. She liked comfortable clothes while she worked.

Comfortable, but a miserable tease to the subs, because she wore no undergarments. The little magnetic silver balls on her nipples poked through the stretchy fabric. Her pussy and ass were nearly visible through the stretched cloth of the leggings.

She really liked Will, so there was also a fist-sized wet spot between her legs.

She planted a high-heel booted foot on either side of him, pressing herself against his upturned face. He snapped out of his bliss as soon as he smelled her. His pupils dilated. Her thighs pressed against his shoulders. His erect cock bobbed between her knees. His eyes drifted between her legs. Again, saliva dripped quickly off his chin.

She chuckled. Greedy boy.

She pulled at the little rubber rings on the ends of the bamboo tongue clamp, and pulled it off. He groaned. His tongue undulated, then he licked his lips. The corners of his mouth were red from the bamboo rods. She wanted to trace her tongue on the grooves, suck on his swollen tongue. Instead, her gloves fingers grazed his nipple. He arched as well as he could in his restraints, chasing after her touch.

She wished she still had the crop in her hand, so she could mark his freckled shoulder. Instead, she slapped him, an artful backhand that made his head snap to the side.

Her breath was ragged, and she smiled as if drugged as she observed his reaction. Surprise. Pain. Arousal.

_Submission._

Her wet spot grew. He saw, and whimpered, unimpeded by clamp or gag. It was a lovely sound.

She pressed herself against him again, rubbing his face against the damp fabric. She felt the hot pressure of his tongue against the seam. Despite her promise to herself, she shifted so he had better access. His tongue darted, swirled, pressed, trying to find her clit. His copious saliva mixed with her pussy juice on the leggings, diminishing her musk.

He grunted with frustration. His cock throbbed, dripped to her boot.

“Fuck.”

It wasn’t him who said it, since he knew better. It was her, and her voice was thick with lust. He smiled at her. His brown eyes radiated an innocent joy that made her clench her fists behind her back.

She had never let him get this far, taste her. Their relationship was purely business, and she was loathe to break her own rules.

His chin shone with saliva and her juices. His aquiline nose twitched with the scent of her, and he licked his lips again. His pink tongue circled all around, a weirdly animal gesture only enhanced by his sharp canines.

She stepped back and off the tatami and sat down at a high back chair by the window, slouched, legs spread wide. The late afternoon sun made gold slashes on his sweat-glossy hide. Her hand had raised a glorious print on his cheek, and the crop marks were puffing nicely. His cock stuck out from the fine, dark nest of hair between his legs. Chrome bolstered it up like a gift.

He looked at her through thick eyelashes. The muscles of his hips and thighs rippled as he fidgeted against his restraints. They creaked and clicked.

She whimpered. He froze.

It was very, very low. It could’ve been the metal, but no. It was too human.

He arched as much as he could and threw his head back, his lips parted. His belly tightened as he made his cock bob.

She did it again, and sat up in her seat. Her face changed. It was no longer a moue of impassiveness. He saw her. The her beyond the Mistress. It was just for a few seconds - arousal made her careless - then the mask was back.

Wetness made the cloth darker to mid-thigh. She couldn’t help that. He was delicious - she could admit that to herself, right? She could react very favorably to a client. Arousal wasn’t forbidden. But her mind was clouded by it now. 

She was tempted to end it there and leave his cock aching and caged until their next appointment.

He seemed to read her thoughts. He chuffed lightly to get her attention. When she looked at him, he touched the tip of his tongue to his teeth and gave her a fathomless look. If her cunt had a voice, it would’ve screamed.

Incoherent images flashed by in her now fevered imagination. Things she could do _with_ him, not just to him. She bit her lip, hard, to regain control.

“Don’t move. Not a muscle.”

She unbuttoned her gloves slowly. His eyes flashed, but surprisingly, he showed great restraint by relaxing his face back to bliss.

She never took off her gloves. It was a thing with her, to the point where he had never actually seen her naked hands.

She peeled them off, and threw them on the floor. He studied her hands. Her nails were short and polish-free, something he wasn’t expecting. He had imagined glossy talons to match her personality.

She walked to a desk and opened a drawer, taking something shiny out. As she walked to him, he saw it was the abalone handle of a straight razor.

His heart raced. As she approached, she cupped it gracefully in her hand, then with a practiced flick of her wrist, opened it. The adrenaline made him bellow, but she put a soothing hand on his face, caressing.

Her touch was so reassuring it made him forget almost immediately. He wanted her to touch him everywhere.

She stood in front of him, staring into his eyes. She was teetering on the edge of something deep, but she couldn’t see how deep. Her heart beat fast now. If she broke her own rules, how could she so stringently enforce the ones she made for others?

His skin was so silky, and slick with sweat. Touching him without gloves felt more intimate than fucking. 

She thought about it, but ruined her own orgasms by forcing herself to think of someone, something, anything else but him when she felt herself getting close. She didn’t want to imprint on the warmth of his gaze, or the rose of his mouth. It was more misery than it was worth, and she was not a masochist.

She spread her legs near her face again, studying him. Again, his brow furrowed, and he rooted fruitlessly, trying to give her pleasure through the cloth. She cupped the back of his neck, then squeezed. It was not painful. Pain was far from her mind now.

He leaned into her caressing hand and sucked on his fat lower lip.

She let out a shuddering sigh. Her knees wobbled as a monstrous wave of desire hit her. She didn’t have to break her rules completely. There was a loophole.

She brought the straight razor to the seam between her legs. He looked worried, but she ran it lightly and the taut cloth yawned, exposing her pussy.

He made a funny sound, between a moan and a grunt. Her pussy was hairless except for a well-trimmed, narrow v of hair on her mound. Her plump lips - they weren’t plump they were fat, and flushed with arousal -  were coated with wetness.

She dripped it. Her umami scent filled his senses and he shivered. It had been so long since he wanted pussy. Anger and sorrow trumped all. That, and guilt.

But those feelings were mercifully dulled by the touch of her hand.

He dove to taste, but her touch went from gentle to excruciating.

“No. Not unless I ask.” And she was sure it would never get that far.

She slid two fingers between her lips and sighed, spreading so he could see her clit. He whimpered. Her bud was lusciously big. He wanted to feel it against his tongue, suck until he gave her what she had so easily given him, albeit in his bath, or his bed. Alone.

He had spent gallons thinking of her, and remained so eager he tasted the come that pooled on his belly and chest, as if his intense fantasies of her could transmit her flavor through him.

She unclipped the hogtie and clipped his bound wrists to an O ring on the floor. He groaned as blood rushed through his limbs. He stretched on the floor, although his ankles were bound together as well. She appeared again with a curved metal wand. She straddled him and sat on his chest. His eyes went from her exposed pussy to her breasts.

What wouldn’t he do to be sucking on them as she sunk slowly on his cock?

Really. _What wouldn’t he do?_

She slid the wand easily into herself, holding the tapered end of it between her fingers and rocking it. Her eyes rolled back and she shivered. She was already so close. It wouldn’t take much to push her over the edge. A trifling thing. But, yet, there was a possibility she wouldn’t get it.

She rubbed her thumb along his lips. They were so soft, and wet. And hot. She wanted to meld her heat to his, but…

She pressed her thumb past his lips and into his mouth. He flicked his tongue over it, then gave the pad a long lick.

“Tease.” Her voice was rough now. He was, and he kept it in his mouth, and he continued as she neared orgasm.

His cock bobbed against his belly as he tightened and loosened his groin muscles. He was so horny the right taste, the right sound could set him off.

She moved up, and hovered over his face. Her wet, plump lips sucked the metal sliding so quickly between them. Again, she spread so he could see. She was ready, he could tell. The crown of his cock contracted slowly.

“Pet,” she said breathlessly, “I want to come on your face. You can say no if you don’t want me to.”

He looked up at her from between her thighs. Her hand slowed. His gaze was intense. Was it too much? He had hired her to forget with pain. Straight pleasure had not crossed her mind when she first met him. Now, it was all she thought of.

He finally broke his silence.

“Please.” It was rusty, but so beautiful.

She got closer, cursing her boots for not allowing her toes to curl. He licked his lips, then parted them, waiting on his gift.

She grabbed a fistful of hair at the top of his head and moaned. Her hand moved quick between her legs. Her cunt was tightening, resisting more and more.

He made an “ungh” sound, and opened his mouth wider. Her control snapped.

“Do you want to feel it?” she said between clenched teeth.

He nodded briskly.

"My orgasm, against your tongue?”

He groaned and started to pant into her. His face, usually seamed with the weight of the world, was flushed and lineless. Desire imparted a temporary youth, and he was lovely.

Heat spread from her pussy into her belly.

She moaned loudly and cursed. She pulled the toy out and it trailed wetness across his face before she sat down on him.

He bucked and slid her tongue into her, grunting as she contracted strongly against him. He licked and sucked her copious wetness greedily. The taste of her did it. Pleasure exploded in his brain. His cock twitched rhythmically and shot come on his belly and her back. He curled underneath her, trembling, but his tongue did not stop muscling its way in and out of her to lick her clit.

“Fuck,” she said finally. She stopped moving and stood up. It was cold, but she came back with a warm washcloth. She sat beside him and undid his restraints. He moved tentatively, but he was too spent to get up. She straddled his waist and leaned in close to wipe her juices off his face.

She moved down his body, wiping the pooled semen on his belly. Her gaze was electric despite his orgasm, and his cock pulsed once more. A bead of come gathered on the head of his cock. She looked at it, then into his eyes. Her lips parted, and she licked it off.

He grunted, and his hands shot up to touch her face. She froze, and his fingers just ghosted over her cheeks. She removed the cock ring, leaning in so close and breathing her warm breath on him that it was a nearly impossible task, as he started to swell up again.

She dared to kiss his belly, rubbing her lips on his welts. She could taste him, and it made her want to sheathe his hardening cock with her mouth.

She put her hand on his chest and moved so they were face to face. Her hand splayed, and the fingers curled, a precursor to a caress.

She wanted to say something. Like, stay.

But their time was over, and she had another client coming.

He sat up, then stood. She walked to the other room to change. She wanted the strength to stay away until he walked out, but then decided against it. His musk on her tongue did it.

She stripped off the damp clothes quickly and put on a robe, then stepped back out. His eyes widened. He had never seen her so...soft. Feminine. Yet he knew this woman’s teeth were sharper than his.

He put on his coat, a well-worn Burberry trench. To think she had thought him another faceless sub. He was painfully irresistible. She grabbed the collar. It bunched in her fist as she looked up at him hungrily.

She flushed as she realized she liked it. Looking up at him.

His jaw moved as he thought something through, but she beat him to the punch.

“Let’s have dinner.”

He nodded. She let go.

* * *

  **Four Days Later**

He heard a murmur as someone entered the small bistro. She was a blood red calla amongst daisies. Her dress wasn’t a garment, it was a statement.

And he knew well what it was. She wanted to impress him. But then again, he knew it was something that she would never, ever fail to do.

She walked up to him, floating in her red-bottom stilettos with an ease that made lesser women frown. Unlike them, she didn’t shy away from the pain they caused - she leaned into it.

She saw him, and her face lit up. Its light made a waiter walk into a table. She tucked her clutch underneath her arm. He stood up.

“You look ravishing.”

She extended her hand for him to kiss. It was deliciously ungloved. He pressed his lips on her perfumed skin. He let out a moan, so soft no one else would catch it.

“Wise choice of words,” she said. She was ravenous.


End file.
